


it's fowl play, your honor

by shatteredhourglass



Series: Winterhawk Bingo Again [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A Terrible Attempt At Comedy, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton's Farm, Jealousy, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Over... A Turkey, POV Bucky Barnes, This Is STUPID, Turkey-Related Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Bucky takes a vacation from his newfound duties as Captain America.Also, there's a turkey.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Winterhawk Bingo Again [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963777
Comments: 34
Kudos: 141
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	it's fowl play, your honor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashkingtater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashkingtater/gifts).



> This is so dumb. I have no regrets.

“You’re still here?”

“Of course I’m still here,” Bucky says from his desk. He’s slowly being swallowed by a mound of reports that don’t seem to have diminished after hours and hours of working on them, still wearing the Captain America suit with the mask pulled down. Three days of fighting and then ten days of paperwork. Man, he misses Steve.

“Have you taken a break in the last month?”

“More like the last _year_. It’s just one goddamn thing after another,” Bucky says. “Thank fuck I don’t need to sleep. I lost my phone on purpose and I still can’t keep up.”

Sam sighs at him, leaning up against a wall. “Go home, Barnes.”

“I have to-” he starts, and Redwing kicks the paperwork off of his desk, baring her beak at him when he tries to snatch it back. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“No you won’t,” Sam says. “Quinjet’s waiting outside. You’re off-duty for a week.”

“The world doesn’t go on hold because you think I need a break,” Bucky argues. “Where the hell are you taking me, exactly? The Bahamas?

Sam’s no-nonsense look is starting to get an air of danger to it. “Bucky. When’s the last time you saw your boyfriend?”

It must’ve been - Monday, when they video called last? No, this Monday he was out beating up the Hand. Last week, maybe. Might’ve been the week before that, actually - they’d needed Captain America for a public defense meeting. It doesn’t matter. “Why?”

“No reason. Come on.”

“I’m not getting a choice here, am I?”

“Nope,” Sam says flatly. “Get your bag. You’re going to Iowa.”

Despite him dropping the ball with communication lately, when Bucky gets into the copilot’s seat he finds he’s actually looking forward to getting to spend some time with Clint in-person for once. It’s been a while.

Clint’s forced retirement and Bucky’s promotion has made this whole relationship thing harder. They’re making it work as best they can, though - Skype calls as often as they can, and Clint sends him photos of the farm non-stop. (Or he had, until Bucky lost his phone. It’s the only thing he misses from it, honestly.)

He’s missed seeing Clint.

This might be good for him, actually.

“Thanks,” he says when they drop down in a field by the old farmhouse.

“I’m not letting you back in until a week has passed,” Sam says. “Even if you catch the bus, I’ll lock you out. You got me?”

Bucky slings his duffel over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here, Wilson.”

The farmhouse is quiet when he steps through the door.

“Clint?”

Nothing.

Bucky drops his bag by the doorway and steps further into the house. It’s still silent, and now he’s starting to get a little worried. He heads for the stairs to the second floor, keeping an ear out for any movement.

Clint’s bedroom is on the right, and he pushes the door open as he hears a muffled thump from inside. “If you’ve gotten yourself kidnapped or hurt again, I swear to G-”

And then he stops talking, because there’s an enormous black-and-white turkey sitting on the bed.

“Bucky! You’re here. In my house,” a muffled voice says, and he notices a pair of legs poking out from underneath the turkey’s bulk. “Is the world ending?”

“What? No,” Bucky answers distractedly.

The bird stands up after some coaxing from a pair of bandage-covered hands that appear from underneath it, although it looks reluctant, and Clint rolls out from under it and falls off the bed with a quiet _ow_. The turkey peers over the side of the bed to look at Clint, and Bucky’s-

“Why are you here?”

“Took a vacation,” Bucky says absently.

“You can do that?”

“Apparently,” Bucky replies, snaps his attention away from the turkey just in time to catch Clint as he throws himself at Bucky.

Clint’s _warm_ , is the first thing he notices. He smells like hay and sweat, and Bucky’s hands go to the small of his back where his shirt’s ridden up to touch bare skin and bumpy scars. It’s been too long since he’s touched someone without throwing a punch and he holds on for what’s probably a little too long and a little too tight.

Thankfully Clint doesn’t seem to mind and when Bucky pulls back a few inches, Clint tugs him into a kiss instead.

God, he’s forgotten about _this_ too. His body still remembers though, and Clint makes a downright delicious noise when Bucky backs him against the nearest wall and presses in close. One of his hands slip down to palm Clint’s ass through his jeans, squeezing just to hear the gasp breathed against his lips.

“I want to suck you off,” Clint says. “I want- can I- it’s been so _long_ -”

Bucky kisses him again instead, a little desperate to keep touching him as long as possible. It’s not that he’s _against_ blowjobs, exactly - more like the opposite, and Clint’s fantastic at it - but they haven’t seen each other in person for months and Bucky just wants to keep him right here, shoved up close against him.

He thinks Clint gets it, because rather than complain he wraps a leg around Bucky’s and pulls him impossibly closer.

“I missed you,” Clint murmurs.

“Me too,” Bucky responds.

There’s a noise from behind them and something bumps Bucky’s ankle, distracting him from the matter at hand.

He looks down to see the bird pecking at his shoe.

Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“Barton,” Bucky says slowly. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a turkey,” Clint answers.

For god’s sake. “I know it’s a fucking- why is it _here_?”

“Oh! My neighbour’s turkey had some babies accidentally. They asked if I wanted one to keep - the rest of them were girls, so they’re keeping those, but they didn’t want another male and I figured, why not? Plenty of room out here for a bird.”

“Right.”

“His name’s James.”

“Okay.”

The turkey gobbles.

Bucky considers going back to work again.

“Let me get this straight,” Bucky says. “It stays _inside_ the house?”

“I’ve been renovating the barn for the last few months. It would’ve been mean to leave him outside and besides, he’s good company.”

They’ve given up on the sex for now.

(Bucky’s given up on it, anyway. He’s not entirely sure Clint’s above getting laid with a turkey watching, but _he_ has standards.)

Instead Bucky’s settled himself in a chair as Clint cooks something with enough spices to sting his nose, and the turkey has decided to stand by Clint’s feet so it can pick up any crumbs that get dropped. From what he can tell, the bird follows Clint around like a bad smell, not that Clint seems to mind.

Clint shoos it away as he opens the oven. The turkey lets itself be shooed, and instead heads for Bucky. He stiffens as it approaches - why is it so _big_? - but rather than come directly to Bucky, it jumps up onto a chair and sits itself down. Like a damn person.

It’s almost too large to fit on the chair.

It’s also staring at him.

What the _fuck_.

“It looks like its brain is leaking out of its nose,” Buck observes, with a mild sense of horror.

“That’s his _snood_ ,” Clint says.

Good god.

“Can it go somewhere else?”

“He doesn’t really go that far from me,” Clint says as he drops off a beer for Bucky, and a piece of banana for James. “That’s kinda what happens when you raise them.”

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you acquire a turkey who thinks you’re its mother,” Bucky says.

Clint scrunches up his face. “Kinda? I guess?” He reaches out to affectionately stroke the turkey’s head, and drops a kiss on it for good measure as he heads back to the kitchen.

Bucky decides then and there that he does not like the turkey.

Bucky wakes up in the morning to see the early morning sunlight and a pair of round, dark eyes staring right into his face.

“Gobble,” the turkey says.

Bucky rolls over and puts his face under the pillow.

“Hi there, gorgeous,” Clint greets, voice rough and sleep-warm in the best kind of way.

Bucky lifts the pillow again, only to realize that Clint’s not talking to him.

He’s talking to the _fucking_ bird instead.

That thing ain’t gorgeous by any measure. Maybe Clint needs to get his eyes checked. Then again, even a blind man would take one feel of that neck and move halfway to China. Maybe Bucky’s found himself trapped in an alternate nightmare dimension where he’s second fiddle to poultry. That makes more sense than this.

“Morning, Buck,” Clint says, finally looking at him. “You staying under there permanently, or…”

“Can the turkey _please_ go somewhere else?”

“He’s just saying hello,” Clint says in a tone of voice that almost sounds like _hurt_ \- which would be ridiculous, because it’s just a damn turkey. “C’mon, buddy. Original James isn’t a morning person like you are.”

The mattress creaks under his shifting weight.

Bucky lifts up the pillow in time to see Clint trying to carry the turkey out the bedroom door. The turkey’s head is nestled into the crook of his neck and Clint’s supporting it carefully as he angles them out the doorway, even though the turkey is clearly far too big to be carting around like a baby. Clint’s making quiet shushing noises at it as it lets out a noise, seemingly puzzled by the exit they’re making.

Clint doesn’t come back upstairs but he leaves the coffee out for Bucky, so he can’t be too upset.

“I gotta make a run to the store,” Clint says. “You coming?”

“Nah. You go, I’ll hold the fort,” Bucky answers, hands still curled around his coffee mug.

Clint leaves without a word. A few seconds later Bucky hears footsteps clacking along the hallway. He lets out a sigh as he spots a row of black-and-white feathers visible over the tabletop, moving purposefully towards the door.

It lets out a gobble when it realizes there’s no Clint to be found.

Good. Bucky hopes it’s upset. _He’s_ upset.

“I’m going to turn you into pot pie,” he tells the turkey.

It seems unfazed by his threats and instead settles down on the dog bed by the fireplace. Right. Kate’s taken Lucky with her, so that means the dog bed is _intended_ for the turkey. A few minutes later it’s gone asleep, and Bucky briefly thinks about how easy it would be to strangle the thing just to get Clint to himself for five minutes.

Fuck, but that’s dark. Maybe he needs to go back to work for his own sanity instead.

Bucky decides to go outside for a walk to clear his head - ironic, that the only place free from the turkey is the place it’s _supposed_ to be.

It’s stupid to be this upset over a bird.

Clint’s attachment to it is _also_ stupid though, and on those grounds Bucky doesn’t feel quite as bad about sulking. How’s he supposed to enjoy an extremely rare week of spending time with his boyfriend if he has to share all of that time with a domesticated turkey?

Somehow he ends up walking right to the edge of the Barton Farm property, and when he looks up there’s a person in overalls watching him pace around like an idiot. Great. He’d better introduce himself - the last time someone in this town spotted him, they thought he’d come to murder them all.

“Mornin’,” the elderly woman greets as he approaches. “You’re Clint’s boy, yeah?”

“I guess. If you’re not counting the turkey,” Bucky says.

That makes her laugh. “He said you were a snarky one.”

Bucky pauses at that. “Does he… talk about me a lot?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” she says, lifting an eyebrow.

Fair enough.

Bucky decides to question her. May as well, she’s the only one out here. “Do you know what the thing with the turkey is? Why he’s so fixated with it? Why it's so fixated with _him_?”

“I think he gets lonely out here by himself,” she says. “Always looks a little aimless, wandering around the fields with no one to talk to. He’s perked up since we gave him that thing, though. Funny sort of gift, but Bob said he already had a dog.”

“I don’t get it,” Bucky says. “Why would he be lonely?”

The woman gives him a pointed look and it finally clicks.

All of Bucky’s grievances vanish instantly.

The turkey’s name is _James_ , for god’s sake. How did he not catch on earlier?

“I have to go,” he says.

“Remind Clint that he was supposed to return that Paw Patrol DVD he borrowed from my granddaughter,” she says, waving him off. “Go.”

Clint’s already back and sitting on the porch, turkey on his lap, when Bucky gets to the farmhouse.

Bucky heads for him immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out the instant he’s within earshot. He signs it as well for good measure, but Clint doesn’t see because the turkey’s feathers are covering his face.

“Why are you sorry? Don’t tell me you broke one of the taps again,” Clint says, muffled. The turkey gobbles at him. “I’m still trying to fix the last one.”

“I lost my phone and I never come to visit even though you _can’t_ come to see me and I’m jealous of a damn turkey because I’m an idiot,” Bucky says.

Clint doesn’t reply to that, other than parting the turkey’s feathers so he can look up at Bucky’s face. There’s a tiny frown on his lips.

“We’ve got a week before I have to go home and I’m wasting it being crappy. Being Captain America _sucks,_ but it sucks even more that it’s affecting you. I’m so stressed out all the time because Steve dumped all this shit on me, and I dropped the ball with us. I fucked up,” Bucky finishes. “I’m a shit boyfriend. I’m sorry. It’s not the turkey.”

Clint’s quiet for a long moment. For a second Bucky’s scared he’s just going to tell him to get lost - and he’d be within his rights to, really - but there’s nothing angry in his eyes when he meets Bucky’s gaze again. “Does this mean you’re going to get another phone?”

“Private phone,” Bucky says. “Just your number, no one else. I’ll hold onto it wherever I go, promise.”

“Hmm,” Clint says. “You’ll come visit more often?”

“I’ll find someone to cover for me,” Bucky says.

“Alright,” Clint says. “You gonna apologize to James?”

Ugh. “He doesn’t even know what’s going on. He’s a turkey.”

“Bucky. You’re meant to be groveling, c’mon. Tell the turkey you’re sorry.”

_I still want to turn you into a pie_ , he thinks. In all honesty, the turkey’s taking better care of Clint than he is, but he’s not a fan. “I’m sorry,” he says out loud.

“I’m sorry, _James_.”

“Clint.”

“No, that’s my name.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Bucky says, but the fondness in his voice is too obvious.

“Aw,” Clint says, grinning. “And here I was, coming back from the store with all this lube and a door-stopper to keep the turkey out.”

Bucky ends up texting Sam to say he won’t be back for another couple of days.

The rest of the world can wait.

(He also sneaks the turkey some corn from his dinner plate, which amuses Clint to no end when he notices.)

**Author's Note:**

> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Captain America!Bucky/Normie!Clint


End file.
